Last Friday Gracie and I flew to San Francisco to visit friends and speak in a church. From the airport we made our way to the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) and took the light rail into the city. Once comfortably installed in our seats I pulled out my laptop and started working on a talk for the next day on reading the Bible for personal and social transformation.

A young man started shouting loudly further up the train, a common occurrence in subways in Paris where I’d been a few weeks earlier. Vagabond performers often board the metro with a short act and make rounds with a hat for donations. Homeless people or gypsies regularly beg, sometimes after some kind of speech—and people mostly ignore them. I was able to tune the voice out so as to concentrate on my presentation. Other passengers had their faces in newspapers or books. Most had ear buds securely in place to shut out the distracting sounds.

The voice was getting louder and increasingly agitated but very articulate. It broke through my concentration in blasts, disrupting my focus:

“Look at all of you, hiding behind your laptops and newspapers, shutting me out with your ear buds and iPhones. Why can’t you just acknowledge me by looking at me? I am not going away, and neither are the 10,000 other homeless people here in San Francisco who suffer on the streets. All of the homeless shelters are filled and I have no place to sleep tonight.“

His voice grew shriller and more hostile as he made his way down train towards us. I could feel other passengers discomfort and annoyance. I found myself wondering for a moment what I’d do if he got right in my face. I even pondered whether he might be the type who could pull out a gun. At this point I hadn’t even looked over at him but was still buried in my laptop, using my café-sitting skills to tune him out.

“Do you realize how painful it is to be homeless and have people ignore you like you don’t even exist?” He continued like a prophet, piercing through my defenses.

“It hurts to be treated like you’re invisible. I am a person just like you people. But look, right now not one of you will even look up and make eye contact with me. Can’t somebody simply acknowledge my existence?”

Suddenly I felt compelled to close my laptop and respond to him in some way. I got up and made my way over to him as he stood in the closed doorway of the moving train, nearing the end of his tirade. When he stopped I tapped him on the shoulder and spoke:

“Sir, I want you to know that I am listening to you and am deeply moved by what you are saying. I am sad that you feel so ignored and rejected and can see that you are in a lot of pain. You are getting through to me and I want to thank you for sharing your feelings.”

He looked up stunned and said: “Whoa, I’m not used to anyone responding to me. Nobody ever does this man.”

“What’s your name?” I asked. “Sean” which he pronounced seen. I then told him that God notices him all the time and knows his pain. I asked him if I could pray a prayer of blessing over him.

“Yeah, you can pray for me,” he said. “But would you be willing to help me out with a meal first?” he asked.

“Gladly,” I responded, and we agreed to meet at Civic Center, where he said his favorite restaurant was located. Sean excused himself to finish his speech, and I sat down beside Gracie, noticing glances from fellow passengers who looked slightly relieved as he continued in a less agitated voice.

Sean met us as we stepped off the BART, and we followed him out of the station and up the stairs to the street level.

We had noticed when walking beside him that he shuffled along gingerly in oversized unlaced basketball shoes.

“What’s wrong with your feet?” Gracie asked. “Are you in pain?”

He told us that he had severed a tendon but that both of his feet were messed up from break dancing.

“There’s my favorite restaurant,” he said, pointing to Burger King across the street. He motioned for us to wait there against a storefront on the sidewalk for a moment, but I said that we really needed to be on our way soon.

“No, no. Just wait for six seconds,” he insisted.

Sean walked into the flow of pedestrians with his right hand out, gently saying “excuse me ma’am, excuse me sir” a few times to whomever was before him. We watched as pedestrians avoided him without acknowledging him in any noticeable way, like he was invisible. People consistently skirted him, looking down or in the opposite direction with expert ignoring.

Sean came back to us and said, “see the attitude that we homeless people have to deal with?” Gracie and I were amazed as we followed him across the cross walk to Burger King.

“We all need to be acknowledged, which is exactly what people are supposed to do towards God,” he commented, referring to a Scripture that I later located as Proverbs 3:6. “In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your paths.”

We waited in line at Burger King and two separate homeless men approached Sean, asking him for something. He ordered and we sat down on some stairs heading up to a closed off seating area. At this point I asked him if we could pray for him or if he’d prefer to wait until his food came.

“Actually if you could pray for me before your next meal, instead, that would suit me just fine, if that’s okay” he said. “But would you mind if I prayed for the two of you?” he asked.

We accepted his offer, and putting a hand on each of us he began to loudly pray. “Our Father in heaven, mighty God, I believe. But help my unbelief!” He went on praying a long prayer quieting down as he became increasingly focused. “…Lord bless this couple with a happy marriage and a long life!” were some of his final words before a strong “amen.”

As soon as Sean finished his prayer Gracie said:

“It seems wrong that we leave you without praying for your feet. You are in pain. Can’t we just pray a short prayer for you?” she asked.

Sean resisted for a moment but then agreed to let us pray. I put my hands on his shoes and we spoke healing to his feet in Jesus’ name. We blessed him with God’s peace and protection. He was visibly moved. He got up to get his order and we headed out together towards our next cable-car like bus—the Muni (SF Municipal Railway).

As we crossed the street towards the Muni stop Gracie asked him whether he was noticing any improvement in his feet. “I won’t lie,” said Sean. “I do not feel the same as before.”

“Well then we must thank God and pray some more,” said Gracie as we reached the other side of the street.

We prayed for him and he received his healing in Jesus’ name. At this point Sean’s demeanor changed. He looked awestruck and we sensed the Holy Spirit touching us all in a deeper way. We said our goodbyes and watched him shuffle off a little faster with what looked like a new lightness in his steps.

As we made our way to the underground Muni stop we felt a lightness as it seemed God was directing our path. We felt inspired and even recruited by Sean to see and acknowledge other individuals, feeling carried along by the flow of God’s love.

A tall homeless man selling newspapers showed us where to buy tickets. We noticed that his hands were severely twisted and learned he was in a lot of pain from arthritis. He gladly accepted prayer for healing and we continued our journey to our friends’ house, wondering what other adventures this already inspired weekend would hold.

Announcement: This September and October The People’s Seminary is offering three new upcoming Certificate in Transformational Ministry at the Margins cohorts in London, Glasgow and Burlington. Click on the sites for more information and applications.

I have been moved this Easter by Mark’s account of Jesus’ resurrection—by a detail I had never noticed and a renewed understanding of a well-know verse.

When the first two witnesses to the empty tomb (both Marys) arrive to find the “extremely large” stone had been removed from the tomb, they enter the tomb and meet a young man sitting at the right, wearing a white robe. He tells them something that surprised me: “do not be amazed!” He then goes on to say matter-of-factly:

“You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who has been crucified. He has risen; he is not here (in the place of death, of commemoration); behold, here is the place where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter, ‘He is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.’”

I looked up the Greek verb translated “amaze” and found out it can mean “to alarm thoroughly, to terrify or to be struck with amazement.” It seems the messenger was all about them not letting terror demobilize them or amazement mystify them. The Kingdom of God must continue. Jesus is alive and already going ahead to meet them in Galilee—where he will send them out to continue his mission.

But the women don’t heed the angel, but flee from the tomb. Terror and amazement grip them. They say nothing to anyone because they were afraid. When Mary Magdalene is then met by the resurrected Jesus and then tells the disciples, they refused to believe he was alive and had been seen by her.

Fear, amazement and unbelief were the major obstacles to the movement continuing—and when Jesus himself meets the eleven he reprimands them for their unbelief and hardness of heart—because they refused to believe the humble witnesses who had seen him after his resurrection.

As I am now considering what is required by these first Christians I can see that things haven’t changed much since these first days. Fear, unbelief and hardness of heart block the weak (but powerful) steps of radical faith required of us today.

These first believers, like we ourselves, had to step out in vulnerability to follow Jesus, who is described as having been received into heaven to sit at God’s right hand. But he worked with them as they went out, and will work with us now too.

“And they went out and preached everywhere, while the Lord worked with them, and confirmed the word by the signs that followed” (Mark 16:19).

In late March Gracie and I were in Siberia teaching a course on holistic liberation together with Mike Neelley, our son Isaac and two friends from Paris. During the first session with 40 Russian pastors and leaders I spoke on Isaiah 59, interpreting an oft-misunderstood notion that sin separates God from us.

As I was speaking I remembered an example from years ago in Skagit County Jail, where I saw the Holy Spirit bring relief to four inmates who were not yet Christians. I described to my Russian audience (nearly all ex-addicts and many ex-offenders) how when looking at a particular inmate I saw in my minds eye a metal bar coming down atop his head. When I asked him and the others if any had been hit on their heads with a metal bar, four inmates had raised their hands. I had prayed for them regarding trauma and head injuries and they had been deeply touched.

As I was wrapping up my teaching in Siberia I wondered why I had brought up that particular example. I decided to ask if anyone in the audience had been hit on their head with a metal bar or wooden bat. A number of people raised their hands, and many more came up for prayer. There were a number of people healed, and many forgave those who had struck them at different times of their lives. One pastor had lost vision in his right eye due to a such an injury. After receiving prayer his vision was completely restored. God confirmed the words with signs, and we witnessed this and it filled us with joy.

Jesus is no longer dead but alive and goes ahead of us to meet us. Let us resist any fear or amazement that demobilizes, and unbelief and hardness of heart that blocks. Let us step into Jesus’ ministry and make it our own with expectancy, re-reading and prayerfully considering his instructions to disciples at the end of each Gospel (Mark 16:15-18; Matthew 28:18-20; Luke 24:46-49).

A hardening of attitudes toward immigrants and refugees is increasingly noticeable in Europe and North America of late. Terrorist attacks in France and incidents in Germany have instilled fear of foreigners. Even countries traditionally friendly to immigrants are tightening their borders. Right-wing movements are on the rise everywhere and are calling for harsh measures. Some American politicians are demanding the building of bigger walls and mass deportations. How are we to think and respond?

I am convinced from past experience that deliberately moving toward people, in search of understanding, is a critical first response. I traveled from London to Calais (France) in mid-January and witnessed the desperation of thousands of people marooned in the “Jungle” on the edge of the English Channel while seeking entry into the UK.

An English friend from Christian International Peace Service, who regularly visits residents of the “Jungle,” guided me through makeshift shelters past lines of plastic latrines. We were on our way to a meeting with leaders from the Somali, Afghan, Ethiopian and other communities where problems regarding food distribution and the impending demolition by French authorities of a portion of the camp were being discussed.

I was struck by the Somali and Afghan leaders’ amazing hospitality.

“Have a seat, sit down right there,” they stated, pointing to rickety chairs as if they were thrones. “Would you like some tea or some coffee?” they insisted.

What grace, what dignity! Would that we would express such hospitality! These were not victims needing pity but people taking responsibility for their communities and families—after having braved great perils to make their way through war zones, refugee camps, and across seas as scouts to find a place of security for their families.

I was stunned by how well the different national groups had apparently organized themselves in this squatter village of some 3,500. There were sections of the camp housing Syrians, Iraqis, Iranians, Kurds, Somalis, Ethiopians, Eritreans, Sudanese and others—with stores, a barbershop and cafés. We drank sweet black tea in a makeshift café full of Iranian men, followed by another meeting over tea with Ethiopians followed by tea and baklava in a rustic Afghan tent restaurant. Yet despair and agitation were also palpable.

I met a man from Eritrea outside the door of the makeshift library, “Jungle Books,” which held dictionaries and novels in the languages of the camp’s primary residents. I asked him how he was, and his honest response still haunts me.

“Are we human beings? Are we human beings?” he said, gesturing toward the sprawl of blue plastic tarps and muddy trails through the camp. “And this?” he gestured with disgust. “We have come here for this?”

He told me how he’d left a desperate situation in his homeland with hopes of a new life, which was so obviously blocked before him by UK government immigration policies.

I asked him if I could pray for him, and he declined, stating that he was Orthodox. I told him I had great respect for Orthodox Christians, and this moved him enough that he accepted my prayers.

Most of the camp residents resist any contact with French authorities, not wanting to be processed outside of the UK, their final destination. Yet now France is warning that the camp will soon be demolished and people will have to leave. But where will they go? France claims they will deport many to their countries of origin. Yet there are many unaccompanied children present in the camp and others who most certainly would be in grave danger if returned home.

The movement of millions of people from impoverished countries and war zones into Europe is creating a lot of fear and anxiety. People of faith must resist attempts of politicians and the media to incite fear or false compassion. Followers of Jesus are called to face people and issues with open eyes and compassionate hearts. Jesus warns in Matthew 24:12 that in later days “because lawlessness is increased, most people’s love will grow cold. But the one who endures to the end, he will be saved.”

What is Jesus calling his followers to endure? I wonder. It seems Jesus is calling those who follow him to endure the lawlessness without letting their love grow cold. It is the one who endures without their heart growing cold who will be saved. So how do we endure in these perilous times?

I have been inspired in my readings of the Gospels to see people and problems the way Jesus sees them—with a heart of limitless and practical compassion for the masses.

“Seeing the people, he felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36).

Jesus modeled and invited a Kingdom-of-God governmental strategy, mobilizing his followers into direct action. “Then He said to His disciples, ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Therefore, beg the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into His harvest’” (Matthew 9:37-38). There is certainly an unprecedented opportunity to directly show Christ’s love to vulnerable people from many unreached nations who are right now on our very doorsteps.

When 5,000 were hungry after listening to Jesus’ teaching in a remote place, he told his disciples: “You give them something to eat.” Jesus himself multiplied their limited loaves and fish, distributing provision through his disciple colleagues, expanding their and our imaginations regarding how we are to think and act toward people in need.

The source of Jesus’ compassion is his and our Father’s tender love and compassion, poured out by the Holy Spirit as a free gift to those who ask. As we receive for ourselves the Father’s free gift of grace and boundless affection, we will be enabled to live in the security of our heavenly status as God’s daughters and sons. It is from this place of security that we must respond to those whom God puts before us or calls us toward.

Our heavenly immigration status makes us “strangers and aliens” here on earth, and this identity must trump our earthly identities. Being committed to “on earth as it is in heaven” will put as at odds with the realism of this world—and yet the higher realism of Jesus’ Kingdom must be our standard. Dear friend, let’s step further and deeper into a renewed prophetic imagination for these times, guided by Scripture and God’s abiding Spirit.

My own calling into Jesus’ mission to announce good news to the poor, release to the prisoners, recovery of sight to the blind and freedom to the oppressed has been re-affirmed in recent months, with special emphasis on equipping and mobilizing people towards the not yet reached.

My calling to pursue graduate studies in theology in France happened in the midst of an intense period of leading regular Bible studies with poor and minimally-educated peasants in Honduras. I was continually inspired by Jesus’ teaching ministry in the Gospels, which took place in fields, villages, and seashores as well as along the road, and in homes. Jesus’ passion was that “the poor have the Gospel preached to them” (Luke 7:22), and that inspired my conversational search for good news in Scripture with people outside of church settings. After a number of years we began to feel tired and in need of input ourselves.

How could we grow in our effectiveness in bringing the Gospel to the poor as Jesus did? Jesus offers himself, God’s beloved Son, rich wisdom from heaven to the broken world in his self-emptying love (Philippians 2). We wanted to contemplate these mysteries and receive more in-depth training, somehow bringing the best we could find to those often considered the least.

I currently minister regularly in jail and prison and here in our Tierra Nueva faith community, yet our recent Certificates in Transformational Ministry at the Margins (CTMM) have been mostly offered in more advantaged places (Washington State, London and Seoul)—though attendees are mostly ministry workers serving the excluded. In October I told God of my desire to train ministry leaders in places of greater deprivation. Within a few weeks I had received two invitations to offer our CTMM in Kenya, and invites to Nigeria, Zimbabwe, South Africa, and to minister in prisons in North Carolina and London.

This January Gracie and I attended a five-day listening prayer retreat on Robben Island, organized by a Cape Town-based ministry called The Warehouse. Robben Island was the site of an infamous prison used by the South African governments during apartheid times to house political prisoners—including Nelson Mandela, Robert Sobukwe and countless others. Robben Island is now a museum with tour buses bringing groups around the island six days a week.

Our group of about 50 ministry workers and activists from across Africa and other continents stayed in the once minimum-security prison unit with bars and razor wire still intact, now converted to host groups in a still rustic setting near beaches occupied with African Penguins and nesting Oyster Catchers.

On the second day we broke up into groups of twelve and each went on walking tours of key sites on the island: the leper cemetery, the lime quarry where prisoners did forced labor, the maximum security prison, the home where activist Robert Sobukwe lived under house arrest and was kept from speaking to anyone for years.

I was moved while we were visiting the lime quarry to learn that inmates shared their knowledge with each other as they worked, turning this forced labor site into an underground university where they practiced “each one teach one.”

While visiting the now-empty maximum-security prison I was deeply affected as I read captions in many of the cells describing the lives of the inmates who had done time there.

As I stood and contemplated the cell where Nelson Mandela spent 18 years of his life I found myself overwhelmed by the gravity of the many years people spent there and continue to spend the world over suffering the cruel and unusual punishment of confinement. I was filled with hope to see that all these cells were now empty– reminding me of a vision and prayer I’ve had of Skagit County Jail being completely empty of inmates. Nelson Mandela emerged from 30 years in prison a skilled statesman leading South Africa into a new era with great wisdom and tact.

After our group left I stood in a long corridor of the empty cell-block, and then walked slowly along, looking into each cell. I imagined a man in every cell and put my hand through the bars, grasping an imaginary hand in a gesture of solidarity. Suddenly it was like I saw all the cell doors popping open and men with heads held high, looking somber but confident, walking out one-by-one to freedom. Just then I heard a voice in my head: “I want you to write a training curriculum to raise up prisoners as pastors and leaders—agents of transformation.”

This is something I’ve been called to do for quite some time—to put together a curriculum for leaders on the margins, a module-by-module discipleship and leadership development course that can be used in prisons but also outside. The call felt re-affirmed and strong. I walked into the yard and found a member of our group who from Zimbabwe. He had spent time in prison, suffered torture and now works as a human rights lawyer. He laid hands on me and prayed for me there in the prison courtyard, and I have been pondering this project ever since.

After Robben Island Gracie and I made our way to Zimbabwe via Pietermaritzburg, where we offered the first module of our Certificate in Transformational Ministry at the Margins to over100 pastors and leaders—all of whom serve impoverished communities with increasingly run-down infrastructures and unemployment as high as 90%.

We felt deeply encouraged by our time, witnessing unusual humility and spiritual hunger, visible in an eagerness to learn, openness to the Holy Spirit and a passion to communicate good news to the poor. We will likely return to offer the next module of our CTMM and are in conversations with others in Kenya and Congo about potential cohorts there. We appreciate your prayers for wisdom and clear direction to further develop our training programs, to recruit and raise up more trainers and respond to recent invitations in other countries.

Invite: The People’s Seminary is offering Certificates in Transformational Ministry in the following locations in 2016.

Joseph’s role alongside Mary and Jesus has struck me afresh, inspiring me to follow and promote his way of being present to emerging, often marginalized and ever-threatened agents of God’s Kingdom.

I came upon these thoughts as I met with Julio and Salvio for our weekly pastors training course at Tierra Nueva, and used them as we commissioned Salvio and Chris the following Sunday as Tierra Nueva’s newest pastors. This reflection continues to clarify as I met last Sunday with six Hispanic inmates in Washington State Reformatory who each appear to be stepping into pastoral callings.

Joseph models a sort of spiritual husbandry or midwifery desperately needed today in our world. He is alert to an evolving role that includes adoption, accompaniment, protection, and guidance to assure divine destiny for his charges. He is a shepherd, parent, bodyguard combined.

From a broad sacred history perspective Joseph comes to serve and guard in ways the first Adam failed at, embodying the human father’s role to raise up the new Adam and all future children of the Father (Romans 5:18-19).

The first Adam failed to protect Eve from the serpent’s predatory deceit. He stands beside her passively while the serpent falsely depicts God as ungenerous, untrustworthy, unreasonable, deceptive power monger. The man does nothing to put the creeping thing under his feet. Nor does Adam protect or intervene when his firstborn son Cain becomes enraged at his second born Abel. Adam does not model mastery over the sin that crouches at the door, and Cain succumbs to jealousy and anger and murders his brother with no resistance from Adam.

“Does this still happen today?” I ask the men gathered in a circle in the prison chapel last Sunday.

My friends give concrete examples from their upbringings and lives of crime to illustrate passivity in the face of threats and temptations. One man tells of ignoring a warning from a pastor who prophesied his demise should he continue selling drugs. Now at the end of a seven-year sentence he’s keenly aware that he needs to pay attention continually.

Julio is especially inspired to use his natural on-point alertness to trouble for the good. Julio seems to instinctively know where every cop (even undercover) is within any given neighborhood he enters. He is increasingly alert to predatory spiritual powers and watches over people who attend his nightly Psalms reading group like a Kingdom of God vigilante. We read about Joseph in Matthew 1-2 and find inspiration.

In the new garden in Israel at the eve of the First Century AD the new Eve, Mary, conceives the Savior, the new man, through a divine act when the Holy Spirit comes upon her. Joseph plans to send away his pregnant fiancé away rather than marry her or publically disgrace her. An angel appears to him in a dream, telling him to take Mary as his wife. He doesn’t sleep with Mary until after Jesus’ birth to protect the integrity of the divine Paternity. Joseph offers covering and legitimacy to Mary and adoptive father to Jesus— a necessary protection as threats to his life are immediate.

We read together in these various Bible studies and at the commissioning service Revelation 12, which speaks of this new beginning in cosmic terms.

In heaven a woman clothed with the sun is with child. A dragon stands before her ready to devour her child, “a son, a male child, who is to rule all the nations with a rod of iron.” There’s a war in heaven and “the great dragon was thrown down, the serpent of old who is called the devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world; he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him” (v. 9).

A loud voice in heaven declares the victory of the child: “Now the salvation, and the power, and the kingdom of our God and the authority of His Christ have come, for the accuser of our brethren has been thrown down, he who accuses them before our God day and night”, who is “enraged with the woman… making war with the rest of her children, who keep the commandments of God and hold to the testimony of Jesus (v. 10-11, 16).

“Do you see signs of this accusing, warring aggression against God’s children today?” I ask the inmates. The question is so obviously answerable that it requires no discussion. Our prisons are filled with the accused. The blood of young men and women are flowing everywhere, most visibly now in news stories about Chicago, California, Yemen, Syria, El Salvador and Honduras.

These accusing, threatening powers of death are embodied in human rulers there in the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel, and we read on about Joseph’s important role as the on-point guardian.

When Herod hears that the King of the Jews is born in Bethlehem he sends troops to kill all the baby boys. Once again an angel appears to Joseph in a dream, warning him, saying: “Get up! Take the Child and His mother and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is going to search for the Child to destroy Him.” Joseph responds immediately, taking the child and his mother while it is still night and leaves for Egypt.

Then after Herod dies Joseph is once again recruited into his adopting and guarding ministry. An angel of the Lord appears to Joseph in a dream telling him to take the child and his mother back to Israel. When Joseph hears that Herod’s son is reigning in place of his father and is afraid to return to Bethlehem, his own keen observations are confirmed by a warning dream, leading him to settle in far away Nazareth instead.

Joseph like his namesake Joseph son of Jacob pays attention to his dreams, ends up in Egypt and eventually acts wisely to counsel Pharaoh regarding food provisions, offering covering for Jacob and his sons. Joseph, descendent of Adam through Seth according to Luke’s genealogy embodies and models the first human’s original call to serve and watch over any and everyone born of woman as they step into their spiritual adoption as children of the Father of Jesus.

We end our gatherings reading how the woman’s children “overcame him [the dragon] because of the blood of the Lamb and because of the word of their testimony, and they did not love their life even when faced with death (v. 11).

In each of my recent gatherings people have felt convicted by passivity and mobilized towards a new active resistance and protective orientation towards sheltering and nurturing God’s threatened but victorious church. The inmates lament their failure and inability in their incarcerated state to be present to protect their wives and children, and long for a new opportunity. People are inspired to pay closer attention to how the Spirit is alerting and guiding them. I wonder how Joseph’s example might inspire us to encourage our governments to offer refuge and support to the most vulnerable (like Syrian refugees awaiting resettlement).

We end our times together by me leaving them with a Scriptures about being alert to read on their own (1 Corinthians 16:13; Ephesians 6:18; 1 Thessalonians 5:6), ending with a reading from 1 Peter 5:8-10

“Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. But resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same experiences of suffering are being accomplished by your brethren who are in the world. After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself perfect, confirm, strengthen and establish you. To Him be dominion forever and ever. Amen.

Last week when I heard the news about the attacks in Paris, I was outraged and deeply saddened—a sentiment that has increased as the week’s events have continued to unfold, giving way to a clarification of Jesus’ distinct and compelling call.

Familiarity with the theatre and the cafes where people were shot has made these attacks close and personal, disturbing me to the point of occupying most of my thinking this past week. Five of the six attacks happened quite close to the neighborhood and church where we lived and served in 2011 and 2012. Our then 16-year-old daughter Anna and I attended a Jesus Culture concert at the Bataclan Theatre—the same venue where 89 people attending the Eagles of Death concert were gunned down a week ago today.

One French friend told me that what most unsettled her was that six attacks happened simultaneously, setting off a cloud of insecurity and fear across all of Paris. This fear has now spread across Europe and North America—catching us up with much of the rest of the world.

Fear and insecurity had already overwhelmed Lebanon and Turkey in recent weeks due to suicide bombers, and the Russians have now officially attributed the downing of their flight over the Sinai Peninsula to a bomb. Refugees continue to flee Afghanistan, Iraq, Sudan, Somalia, Eritrea and other places due to war, and Palestinians and Israelis live with threats and violence every day. Everywhere we look, violence produces terror, begets acts of vengeance, and accelerates the cycle of killing.

How are we to respond? My first reaction was a longing to be there in Paris with our friends and the church communities we know and love. I emailed friends, struggled to pray, poured over the news, and prayed some more. A few thoughts come to mind as I seek God’s wisdom regarding responses to current events, combined with links to articles I hope you find useful.

1) Love and worship the One God, Father, Jesus the Son and Holy Spirit with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. Find your security in God’s unfailing love and care. Jesus says: “No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon (money, security, safety)(Matthew 6:24). Let God’s perfect love drive out all fear.

2) Inform yourself through reliable news sources, such as Oliver Roy’s article on the strategic limits of ISIS. Most secular news media, however, focus on the negative, provoking insecurity and fear. The more hidden work of God’s Kingdom goes unreported.

While sleeper terrorist cells and dangerous individuals are indeed imbedded in most countries, activist followers of Jesus committed to love and good deeds are also imbedded everywhere, far outnumbering jihadists. While hundreds of European jihadists do return to Europe after fighting alongside ISIS in Syria, many Christians also return to Europe and North America from schools of transformational ministry around the world. While many more Christians still need to be mobilized, Jesus followers share the Gospel, care for the homeless, reach out to immigrants and refugees, visit the sick and elderly, care for the disabled, visit and minister to prisoners and engage in countless acts of love. The church in France is steadily growing, and many of our French friends tell of an increase of spiritual hunger since the attacks against Charlie Hebdo in January 2015.

3) Pray for God’s comfort and for peace. Intercede for the French people; for the families of the victims; for immigrants and refugees; for Muslims the world over, for men and women involved in ISIS and other terrorist organizations (see this), for European leaders and our own leaders in these dangerous times. Pray for the church and for people of peace to be further mobilized everywhere.

4) “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21), Paul admonishes persecuted believers. Rather than being caught up in the wave of fear and agreeing with policies that emphasize destroying enemies in the interests of national security, or prohibiting desperate refugees from making their way to safety, focus on what it looks like to deliberately overcome evil with good! Let us think on and pray about this!

5) Move in full alignment with the Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead—not with the ruler of this world, the thief who “comes only to rob, kill, and destroy” (John 10:10). When the sons of Zebedee ask Jesus if they should call down fire from heaven (think “hellfire missiles”) on the Samaritans that have refused Jesus entry, Jesus rebukes them, saying, “You do not know what kind of spirit you are of, for the Son of Man did not come to destroy men’s lives but to save them” (Luke 9:55–56). For over 34 years I have ministered to violent men, seeing many give over their lives to the God of life. Let us join Jesus fully in his commitment to seeking and saving those who are lost.

6) Actively love your enemies and pray for persecutors. Mourn the death of enemy combatants rather than celebrating their destruction. Earlier on November 12, the same day terrorists struck in Paris, a US drone attack annihilated four men in Raqqa, Syria, including the infamous Mohammed Emwazi, otherwise known as Jihadi John—the British man who brutally beheaded a number of Western hostages last year. The following day, November 13, a US airstrike killed Abu Nabil, the head of ISIS in Libya. These acts, together with France’s heavy bombing this week of the ISIS stronghold in Raqqa, will most likely increase animosity, radicalizing and mobilizing still more jihadists and fueling more reprisals that will lead to still more violence and death.

Those who kill will themselves suffer greatly, as a recent interview with American drone operators in Nevada clearly shows. Followers of Jesus must actively follow Jesus in our treatment of violent offenders—distancing ourselves from all killing as we seek first the Kingdom of God and the righteousness visible in Jesus’ earthly life.

7) Actively engage in Jesus’ ministry as he lived it in the Gospels, in the company of believers who love each other. This is the only compelling alternative that can compete with jihadist adventurers seeking a utopian vision. Jesus embodied the Father’s lavish love for sinners, proclaiming forgiveness and love made concrete through healing the sick, embracing outcasts, casting out evil spirits from the tormented, confronting oppressors, and preaching the good news of “on earth as in heaven.” Let us step forward into this ministry, empowered by the Spirit, seeking to share this vision and recruit new followers before others recruit them.

8) Welcome immigrants and refugees rather than agreeing with growing moves to exclude them. Now is the time to embrace the most vulnerable people into our nations, seeking ways to humbly and intelligently serve them—bearing witness to God’s life-giving love in Jesus.

9) Be willing to suffer and die in active love and service of God so that the world can see the extremity of God’s care. Muslim fighters willing to blow themselves and others up to advance their cause demonstrate a high level of commitment—albeit it producing the evils of death, chaos and terror.

In contrast, martyred Salvadoran Archbishop Oscar Romero declared: “The only violence that the gospel admits is violence to oneself. When Christ lets himself be killed, that is violence—letting oneself be killed. Violence to oneself is more effective than violence to others. It is very easy to kill, especially when one has weapons, but how hard it is to let oneself be killed for love of the people!”

An army of totally surrendered Jesus followers out to demonstrate God’s grace and power on behalf of the poor and oppressed will advance and penetrate into the places of greatest darkness and need, announcing and embodying authentic hope.

In this climate of fear, God’s perfect love in Christ must be proclaimed like never before, countering the rhetoric of opportunistic politicians with a more compelling vision. “For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses,” writes Paul from his cell as a persecuted apostle of the suffering Messiah (2 Corinthians 10:4). Now is the time to arm ourselves for battle with the weapons of the Spirit embodied by the Savior of the world, who has won the battle by “losing,” by giving up his life as a ransom for many.

Please read this insightful letter from a dear British friend ministering in France for many years, Andy Buckler, and pray as he indicates.

***

From Andy & Uta Buckler

Paris, 18th November 2015

Dear friends

I am writing this letter five days after the terrorist attacks on Paris, whose indiscriminate bloodshed has caused at least 129 deaths and hundreds of wounded. It has been a difficult time, and we have been very grateful for your ongoing prayers and messages of support.

The recent events have brought about a strange atmosphere in Paris. Three days of national mourning and a state of emergency with hundreds of arrests on charges of terrorism, and police and army everywhere… underline the reality of the continued threat. But unlike the attacks last January, there is no mass outpouring of emotion, no big demonstrations. We’re told the security threat is too important, but it also feels like people are determined to get back to normal life as quickly as possible, if only to show that the terrorists have not succeeded… Except that the nervousness and emotions are not far beneath the surface.

Last Sunday I preached at Saint Denis a short distance from the stade de France where three terrorists blew themselves up two days before. The service had been planned with a missional theme, with young people giving testimonies about their evangelism experience abroad last summer, and commissioning for a small Fresh expressions initiative in central Paris due to start next week. The service went ahead and was great, but I found myself really challenged about what it means to be witnesses in the current context.

“You have heard that it was said ‘Love your neighbour and hate your enemy’, but I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you”. (Matt 5,43-44)

Over the last few days, we have been passive witnesses to terrible events. But as Christians, we are of course also called to be active witnesses of a different reality that Jesus calls the kingdom of God. It is easy to loose sight of this Gospel perspective in a media saturated society where attitudes are so easily forged by powerful images and strong emotions.

This doesn’t mean we retreat into an escapist world, seeking to deny reality and its pain and sorrow. But rather that we believe that God is present in the midst of the pain of this world, precisely where we do not expect it, or where are tempted to think that he is absent. God’s love is greater than hate, his life stronger and more real than the forces of death at work around us.

Last weekend I also spoke at two of our regional synods on the theme of being an “Eglise de témoins” (our term for a mission shaped church). There too it felt strange to be talking about mission in such a painful context (especially in the Paris synod), and yet it seems precisely at this time that being a witness is so important. As citizens of the world we are witnesses of the terrible events that shape us, and yet as citizens of God’s kingdom we need also to be courageous witnesses of God’s other perspective which brings peace and hope.

Being witnesses of both at the same time is not easy – it involves being weak and hurting, and yet spiritually discerning, refusing to let our earth bound perspectives determine our identity or shake our confidence.

In Christ, we can become prophetic signs of his presence, through simple, but radical love. Sometimes such signs come in surprising ways. I was struck by the reports of numerous people last Friday night opening their homes to those caught in the attacks and with no way of getting home. The media called this a “surprising gesture of fraternity and solidarity”, which it was! But I like to think it was also a sign of God’s light in the darkness.

So do pray that Christians here would be able to be and to discern around them signs of God’s loving presence in this difficult time. Pray for the local churches that are opening up their doors for people to talk and pray. Pray too for the small teams from different Paris churches that will be available to talk and pray with people around the different sites where the attacks took place. This is a good initiative, but requires great spiritual sensitivity in the current climate.

In this climate, we hear a lot about the terrible effects of “radicalism”, often said as if any sort of strong religious conviction necessarily breeds intolerance and hatred. But what we desperately need today in its place is not simply a collection of consensus-based human values (although these are good), nor an insensitive proselytizing zeal, but a new form of radicalism – the radical love which comes from and through Jesus Christ.

It is the radical love of Christ that enables us to love not only our neighbour (which is hard enough!), but also our enemy. It opens the way to forgive and forgive again. To pray even for forgiveness for those who “know not what they are doing”.

This goes far beyond what politicians can possibly suggest. It is totally unreasonable and unrealistic. In fact it is impossible, unless the lifeblood of Jesus himself is running through our veins.

But it is also a treasure that shines through our contradictions, mixed-up emotions and pain. And it is promise and hope in our disorientated world.

We really need to pray that God will give us grace to allow this radical love to shine through our acts, thoughts, words, prayers, however simple and insignificant they may seem to be to us.

For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. (2 Cor 4:6-7)

In my reading of Jesus’ many encounters in the Gospels I am continually moved by what these stories tell us about how God meets people. Throughout Luke’s Gospel we see Jesus ministering mostly in public non-religious places. He teaches beside the seashore, in cities, in homes, along the road. In Luke 6 he chooses his twelve disciples while in prayer on a mountain, then descends to a level place where he welcomes crowds who come to be healed of their diseases and freed from unclean spirits (6:17). Reading the Gospels regularly with inmates sheds fresh light on old stories due to the threatening conditions in which inmates find themselves.

We read the story of the Roman centurion in Capernaum whose beloved slave is about to die. We read about how he sends some Jewish elders to ask Jesus to come and save his slave’s life. We notice together that the Jewish elders come to Jesus, insisting on the centurion’s worthiness. “He is worthy for you to grant this to him; for he loves our nation, and it was he who built us our synagogue” (Luke 7:4-5). Jesus goes to his house, and I ask the men if they think he is going because Jesus thinks he is worthy?

We know from the beginning that Jesus is willing to come to his house, though the text is not clear regarding whether Jesus is going because the Jewish leaders have convinced him that the centurion is worthy. I ask the inmates what they think.

I know from years of experience that people in crisis often try to make themselves as worthy as possible when they really need God’s help. I find myself doing this too. There is a deep seated assumption in most people’s thinking that God is in reality like a probation officer or judge, looking to see if people are complying with requirements, evaluating evidence proving innocence or signs of measuring up to demands. Even if people claim to believe that God saves by grace, when we really need a miracle we will make sacrifices perceived as pleasing to God.

Inmates might make a special effort to clean up their language, confess all their sins, not miss a service, read the Bible more than usual, pray a lot, offer answers they perceive to be right in Bible studies, forgive enemies, fast, etc. The Jewish elders reflect this theology that everyone is familiar with. They emphasize the centurion’s merits to Jesus. We don’t yet know whether Jesus goes with them because he thinks the centurion deserves it. All we know is that Jesus is on his way to this pagan, Roman centurion occupier’s house to heal (rather than free) one of his slaves. We read on looking for clues about what’s really happening here.

An older, grey bearded man missing half his teeth is ecstatic. He has been reading ahead and wants us all to know the good news he’s found.

He doesn’t think that the Roman centurion himself told the Jewish elders to tell Jesus about how worthy he was of his help for building their synagogue. He argues that the Jewish elders advocated for the centurion based on their belief that people have to be worthy to have their prayers answered. He thinks the Jewish elders want the centurion’s ongoing help for their projects, and do their best to convince Jesus to help them ‘pay him back’ by healing his slave. Everyone is curious now to read the next verses to see what in fact is going on, and if there’s good news for them or confirmation of their negative suspicions.

The story clearly states that as Jesus draws closer to the centurion’s house the centurion sends his friends (people other than the Jewish elders) to tell Jesus that he is not worthy. Friends go now rather than the elders– the beneficiaries of the centurion’s charity. They speak as stand-ins for their friend: “Lord, do not trouble yourself further, for I am not worthy for you to come under my roof; for this reason I did not even consider myself worthy to come to you” (v. 6-7a).

“Does the centurion’s confession of his unworthiness keep Jesus from healing his slave?” I ask the men. “Does Jesus say to the centurion’s friends, ‘hey, wait a minute, I thought this guy was worthy, a righteous man deserving of a miracle. Since he’s not, tell him to forget it!?” The men laugh as it seems this couldn’t be the case. We still need to read the next verses though to get to the final outcome of the story.

We read how the centurion’s friends pass on his detailed request that models his faith that Jesus’ grace and love trump his unworthiness.

“But say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I, too, am a man under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to this one, ‘Go?’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come?’ and he comes; and to my slave, ‘Do this?’ and he does it.”

I find myself amazed that the centurion doesn’t present his best self to Jesus through his friends. He gives Jesus examples from his daily life as a Roman military commander who gives orders to soldiers who occupy Jesus’ homeland. He doesn’t give examples of his authority in building Capernaum’s synagogue, capitalizing on the Jewish elders earlier appeal. Nor does he hide or in any way minimize having a slave. Rather he even uses his ordering of his slave as an example of the authority he has over people in a pagan hierarchical domination system. You could almost say that the centurion uses real examples from his “life of crime” to show that he understands Jesus’ authority as king in the Kingdom of God.

Jesus marvels at this man and publically states to the crowd and his disciples: “I say to you, not even in Israel have I found such great faith” (Luke 7:9).

In my past reading of this story I have always thought of the centurion’s exemplary faith as simply his belief that Jesus could heal from a distance with word, giving an order to eradicate sickness. While Jesus certainly is able to do this and does in other Gospel stories, today I’m seeing something new.

When we read the final outcome something clicked there in our circle in Skagit County Jail’s multipurpose room. The older man with white hair reads the final verse.

“And when those who had been sent returned to the house, they found the slave in good health.”

Together with the inmates we find ourselves marveling at the extreme humility of both the centurion and Jesus. The centurion doesn’t clean up his image to get Jesus’ help but presents himself the way he is, trusting in Jesus’ mercy. Jesus does not publically speak a word of healing from a distance towards the slave, impressing the crowd, Jewish elders or the centurion’s friends. Jesus doesn’t model the authority the centurion affirms. The centurion’s friends find the slave well, without Jesus having taken any credit for the miracle. Rather Jesus given the enemy centurion as modeling something he calls faith, which we try to get our minds around in the final minutes of our jail Bible study before the guards come.

“How does this story speak to you guys today?” I ask the men. “What do you hear God saying to you as we’ve been reading and discussing?”

“The centurion knows he’s unworthy but asks Jesus for a miracle anyway,” someone says. “We can do that now here in jail, and this gives me hope that Jesus will answer even when I don’t have my life together and don’t deserve help.”

“Jesus is willing to go where the centurion lives, whether he is worthy or unworthy,” someone else says.

We talk about faith as an assurance that we can appeal to Jesus for concrete and immediate help as we are right now in our undeserving state, without having to clean up our act. We can count on him coming to us wherever we are. We spend the last few minutes in prayer, thanking Jesus that he’s already on his way towards us, whether others are praying for us or we are asking for help ourselves. I invite the men to dare to make their requests known to Jesus, regardless of their current situation. Together we speak out our prayers with newfound hope.

Last week while on the Isle of Jersey I had intended to take the ferry with an English friend to St. Malo, France and drive up the coast of Normandy to Calais, where we planned to visit refugees seeking entrance into the UK who were living in a tent city called the “jungle.”

I have been especially moved of late by the situation of Eritrean refugees, but also others from Somalia, Ethiopia, Syria and Iraq who fleeing oppressive regimes and war. I had read about the desperation of people seeking entrance illegally into the UK through the tunnels under the English Channel, and had some contacts with Eritrean Christians there.

However on the eve of our journey the way was blocked by stormy seas, and my friend’s inability to get away, leading me back to London and on the Paris via train. Little did I know that God would open a door to ministry to Eritreans and other East Africans in a completely unexpected way that would include a growing team of eager collaborator disciples.

Ismahan is a 30-year-old woman from Somalia who I first met at Tierra Nueva four years ago. Since she was heading back to Paris we connected her to a church we are closely linked to there. She attended a conference I spoke at September 19. After the training ended late that afternoon I asked her if she knew any refugees from Eritrea and Ethiopia. She told me that she could take right then to the metro stop Chapel where we could look for East African refugees who gather there en route to Calais.

Off we went on the metro. While traveling, Ismahan told me about her 15-year-old brother who was kidnapped and was being held for ransom by Islamists while on the perilous journey from Ethiopia to Libya, where he planned to catch a smugglers boat across the Mediterranean to Italy and on to France. She needed to locate someone who knew how to get money to her brother’s captors, but felt unsafe going as a woman alone. She was glad I was available and interested in going with her.

When we arrived by metro to the Chapel stop, we headed off along sidewalks crowded with African immigrants, and Ismahan began speaking to random people in Somali or Ethiopian, asking where there were Eritreans or other migrants who might be able to help her. An Ethiopian man offered to help us, leading us past a small park to an underpass where suddenly we were face-to-face with four young we learned were from Eritrea.

They told us they arrived that day from Italy en route to Calais and hopefully London (first photo above). They said they’d crossed over the Mediterranean in a smugglers boat four days before and were headed to Calais the next morning.

We asked them if they were by any chance Christians, and learned that two were Christians and two Muslims. We learned that the youngest one, a fifteen-year-old Muslim boy (far left of photo) was coughing up blood. We offered to pray for his healing, and also to help him find medical assistance and a hotel where they could rest. The young men looked exhausted and desperate, and were glad to receive prayer.

As we began to pray a small group of Somali migrants came around us and began to question us. “What are you doing?” “Who are you?” “Why are you here?” Ismahan warned me that they were all Muslims and that we needed to be careful as the spiritual atmosphere was intensifying.

Ismahan explained to them that I worked with undocumented immigrants who come from Mexico into the USA, and that I am a pastor in a jail and prison. I shook each of their hands and tried to break through the wall of wariness. The men eventually dispersed leaving us with the four Eritreans and the Ethiopian man, who was taking a special interest in us.

As he sipped from a large can of beer he whispered to me in broken English “would you pray for me too. I am Christian.” I gladly prayed for him and then noticed that tossed his unfinished beer into a trash can.

At that point Ismahan’s 25-year-old brother Nasar called, and we found him in front of a money wiring service run by Somalis under the overpass. Together we helped the Eritreans with some money for a hotel, gave them some British Pounds for their trip to the UK, and praying a final blessing over them. The Ethiopian man then told us he could take us to where there were other Eritreans, and people who would know how to get money to free Ismahan and Nasar’s brother.

Nasar is clearly wired for outreach, visible in his special interest in the Eritreans and kindness towards the Ethiopian man. He moved comfortably between English, French, Samali and Arabic as we engaged with people from different nations. I knew from talking with Ismahan that Nasar considered himself Muslim and had been closed to Jesus. As we walked I found myself thinking that Nasar was afraid of Jesus. This thought was so strong that I finally risked a gentle challenge: “You are afraid of Jesus, aren’t you?”

Nasar denied being afraid of Jesus but I pressed in with this impression, telling him that I thought he was afraid, but that Jesus wanted him to know he respects him. This got his attention, so I shared with him how I could see that he had a heart full of compassion for refugees and people who suffer, and that united with Jesus he would be able to help people much more. He agreed that he had a big heart for the poor and seemed moved by what I said. I asked him if I could pray for him and he agreed. We prayed together there in the street before heading off on our next mission.

The Ethiopian man was gesturing for us to follow him through the crowd and to the Metro. “I know where there are many Eritreans, and people who can help you,” he insisted. Off we went, our guide, Nasar and a new Somali friend of his slipping close behind Ismahan and I so they could pass through the ticket control doors to avoid buying tickets. We switched trains several times and after 20 minutes or so we arrived at Place des Fetes. We followed our Ethiopian guide through streets and alleys until we entered an abandoned school building where 100 or so African and Romanian immigrants were gathered in clusters in an old play area.

“This is an unofficial refugee camp,” Ismahan told me. See photo below and French article here. “These are all squatters and this building is condemned,” she said.

Our Ethiopian guide led up some stairs, past big plastic bags full of used clothes that men were picking through. We entered a hallway and Ismahan knocked on one of the doors. A woman opened it a crack and motioned for us to go. Dread was visible in her eyes, and Ismahan apologized and later told me that this woman had likely been raped, and was feeling threatened in this mostly male environment.

We passed open doors that revealed lines of men laid out side-by-side like sardines, small satchels with minimal belongings beside them. Are you from Eritrea? Ismahan asked in her language, translating for me. We entered room after room of migrants: Somalis from Mogadishu, Ethiopians, but no Eritreans. We moved through crowded hallways past men, some of whom looked like they could have once been pirates, soldiers or traffickers or simple laborers or peasants.

We turned past fresh graffiti and handprints, and through a doorway into a stairwell, which we ascended, up steps wet with urine. Pungent smells filled our nostrils as we climbed to the third floor, making our ways down hallways and into rooms full of Somalis and on to a room where we thought we’d find Eritreans.

“No we are all Afghans,” a man said as we peered into a large room full of side-by-side sleeping nests made of used clothing. In the hallways many men were squatting with ear buds firmly in place, speaking softly into their cell phones.

We made our way up another urine-soaked fight of stairs, through hallways to another door, our Ethiopian guide motioning for us to keep following. This new Ethiopian friend’s spiritual thirst seemed to increase as our journey intensified. Numerous times he turned to me, pointed to his heart and said: “please pray for me.”

Finally we reached a room that he claimed had Eritreans inside. After a prolonged exchange at the door we were welcomed inside. A pregnant woman with three young children was sitting to the right, breastfeeding a baby. Three other women with children were before us along with a man. We learned that they were Muslims but were told that they wanted us to pray for them.

The man told me that they had left everything thinking that there was something better here. “But there is nothing here for us,” he said. Ismahan and I lifted our hands and prayed in English and in French for God’s peace over this household, favor and open doors for them in Jesus’ name. I’m not sure whether what I prayed was translated, but the people were warming to us. I noticed one of the women continued to cough in a way that sounded like bronchitis. I asked the man if she was his wife and he said she was. I prayed for her healing and she smiled.

We walked down the stairs to the ground floor and then back around to the front of the building, climbing the steps to the first floor and making our way a final time through halls full of desperate-looking men. I wasn’t sure what we were doing, maybe looking for someone who could help Ismahan and Nasar get money to their brother.

It was overwhelming to see these people, traumatized by their journeys from some many difficult places. What perils had they survived? What future awaits them? As we left a man followed us down the street. He told Ismahan and Nasar that this was the first time he had heard his language spoken in several weeks He said he was lonely and he wanted prayer. We all gathered around him and blessed him—a growing company attracted to Jesus’ mission of seeking and saving the lost.

Rather than finding Eritrean Christians in Calais, we found and prayed for Eritrean Muslims in Paris, en route to Calais. Instead of ministering together with my English friends, our growing team included Somalis, and an Ethiopian. Rather than feeling overwhelmed and paralyzed by the plight of these people I only knew through news articles, I feel moved and mobilized.

Now back home memories of these scenes haunt me, and I find myself praying for these people in these places of uncertainty and pain. They seem such obvious contemporaries of the crowds Jesus’ describes who “were distressed and helpless like sheep without a shepherd.” Jesus said to his disciples “the harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Therefore beg the Lord of the harvest to cast out workers into his harvest” (Matthew 9:36-38).

Please pray for migrants and refugees, for Ismahan, Nasar and our Ethiopian guide. Pray for freedom and safe travels for Ismahan and Nasar’s 16-year-old brother Aydarouss. The family is still short $1,000 in ransom fees. If you feel called to contribute something please contact me.

Lately I have been especially struck by the destructive practice of labeling, and how widespread it is in our time. In America these days racial profiling seems to be on the rise. Partisan political categorizing and outright hatred towards people of different persuasions are increasing as we move towards a national election. I regularly hear people refer to others as right-wing republican, liberal, fundamentalist, illegal, racist, evil, terrorist or jihadist.

Around Tierra Nueva people struggle with labels continuously. Some seek to remove tattoos that mark them according to their gang affiliation. Others seek to find employers who will hire them in spite of their felon or ex-offender labels. Many of the people we serve have been diagnosed as ADD, psychotic, bipolar, borderline, and many others labels, and told by mental health professionals that their conditions are permanent, requiring them to be on meds for the rest of their lives.

I have grown to hate the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) and our current penal code. Labeling dehumanizes people, reducing them to something that is much easier to incarcerate, medicate, deport, hate or even eradicate. Labels categorize, entrap, curse and brand us in ways that are nearly impossible t shake. Thankfully when we find ourselves before Jesus there is hope. He can remove labels and undo “permanent” conditions!

In Luke 5:12 there is a man covered in leprosy, a condition was seen as permanent in Jesus’ day. Jesus’ way of dealing with this man most certainly challenged the people’s normal, limited “realism” regarding what was possible, bringing them into a Kingdom of God-inspired imagination. In a recent jail Bible study I describe leprosy as a condition that was viewed as irreversible in Jesus’ day. I ask the inmates: “What are some conditions or labels that are viewed today as incurable and therefore permanent?”

The men come up with a list that grows as I read this story in four back-to-back thirty-minute gatherings with inmates. “Addict,” “alcoholic,” PTSD, hepatitis C,” “HIV/AIDS,” “bi-polar,” “felon” and a host of other labels and conditions, including “disabled,” “terminally ill,” “sex-offender,” “chimo”(short for child molester), thief, liar, thug, psychotic.

A number of men share that they experience the labels “felon”, “ex-offender,” and “ex-con” as fairly permanent identity markers that keep them from getting jobs and from being accepted in normal society, including in churches. I describe how according to Mosaic Law, lepers were required to keep their distance from the public, crying out “unclean” when they came around people. We talk about what it would be like today if they would be required to cry out “I’m a criminal” or “I’m a felon” warning people whenever they walked through a mall or grocery store. This led to some good discussion, and the men could see that lepers in Jesus’ day had it pretty bad. We next discussed the question about how the leper got breakthrough.

“So what does this leper do when he sees Jesus?” I ask, inviting someone to read the next verse.

“When he saw Jesus, he fell on his face and begged him, saying, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean” (Luke 5:12).

The men take note of the leper’s humility, desperation and faith. Rather than yelling out “unclean,” the leper declares that if Jesus is willing he can make him clean. The inmates can see that the leper believes Jesus is able to take away a disease viewed as permanent, cleansing him totally of this condition and removing a label thought to be permanent. Many of the men don’t seem to question Jesus’ ability and power to change their situation. The bigger question for them is that of the leper: ‘is Jesus willing?’

Many people caught up in addictions, criminal lifestyles and multiple labels assume God is behind their afflictions or the consequences of their sins. Hyper-sovereignty and retributive justice are inherent in the dominant mindset among the world’s poor and marginalized. If your fate and punishment are written in God’s book, there’s no choice but to surrender. In contrast, the leper here voices a thin but true faith as a kind of declaration that awaits Jesus’ response: “If you are willing you can…”

Jesus responds with direct action that goes beyond the leper’s request. “Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him,” making himself contagious in the eyes of any onlookers.

“Does the leper say, ‘if you are willing, you can touch me’? I ask. “Why would Jesus reach out and touch him?” I ask.

The men are moved that Jesus’ care for the leper surpasses his fear of impurity, or of what people think.

Jesus both touches the leper and also declares his desire to cleanse him instead of showing agreement with and fear of his condition: “I am willing, be cleansed.” Immediately the leprosy leaves the leper, showing itself to be a foreign invader that withdraws before Jesus powerful touch in the same way that demons flee at his command. Jesus holiness is stronger than the contagion. Jesus’ purity overcomes the impurity, eradicating the contagion and erasing the label. Jesus acts here as the ultimate tattoo remover!

Jesus sends the man who is now healed of his leprosy to the official diagnosticians for verification: “go, show yourself to the priest and make an offering for your cleansing, just as Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.” Jesus sends him as a sort of apostle to the labelers, inviting them into a robust realism that includes the fact that Jesus eradicates conditions thought to be permanent. We talk about how that would be like going to the court to check on your criminal record and finding that it was erased or having your doctor verify that you don’t have Hep C.

I end the Bible study inviting the guys to risk asking Jesus to cleanse them of a label or condition that they’ve experienced as permanent. I suggest that taking a step of faith will increase faith, and that this story shows Jesus’ willingness to give us a new start. The men appear willing to take a step of faith and ask Jesus to touch them, to cleanse them. I invite people to silently speak out what they want Jesus to do for them and the circle is quite. With eyes closed the men appear to focus in on the task at hand with hope.

I encourage you to try praying this way yourself, expecting Jesus’ cleansing, transforming touch. May you let Jesus the label-remover challenge your tendencies to label others and yourself. May you remember to see yourself and others the way God sees you and them: as made in God’s image, a beloved daughter or son of the Father of Jesus—our Father. May we let our own and other’s identities in God’s Kingdom become the dominant reality in our mindsets and practices, “on earth as it is in heaven.”

Jesus’ calling of fishermen has struck me afresh as I’ve read Luke 5:1-11 with inmates in Skagit County Jail and Washington State Reformatory and our faith community at Tierra Nueva. Before reading aloud the text, I introduce the topic of shame, and ask people to describe situations where they experience shame. I define shame as the feeling of being irreparably faulty and visibly lacking—like a beat up car that has so many things wrong that it beyond repair.

Inmates talk about being escorted by guards in their red jail-issue clothes with leg irons and handcuffs into court before the judge, the public, prosecutors and other attorneys and court personnel in their suits and ties. Their inability to bail out gives them the appearance of being failures, guilty of charges before they even plead. Someone else mentions groups of citizens on official jail tours looking in on them through the glass of their cellblocks. “It’s like they’re viewing us like animals in a zoo except worse- because we have obviously failed.”

We read together Luke 5:1, which describes Jesus as standing by the lake of Gennesaret surrounded by a crowd of listeners. The men are intrigued that Jesus is not teaching in an official religious location but outside in nature, at the job site of fishermen who are men at the margins of Galilee, which is already at the margins of Israel. Jesus goes to where people are, not expecting them to come to him or to religious places.

Jesus’ entrance into the world of ordinary, working-class people has inspired me over and over, and most notably when I was first called into ministry. This inspired Gracie and my move to Honduras to work with peasants in their fields and homes, and our move to Skagit County 21 years ago to ministry to migrant farm workers in the fields and migrant camps and inmates in our local jail.

Jesus sees two boats lying by the edge of the lake there at the jobsite of fishermen. We observe together that in contrast to the crowds “pressing around him and listening,” the fishermen are washing their nets. We imagine them off to the side checking out Jesus from a distance, a posture that most everyone I’m reading with can relate to. We soon learn that they hadn’t caught anything in spite of toiling all that previous night, making Jesus present there in the place of their shame.

Jesus is next described as taking the initiative in moving closer to one of the fishermen, Simon. Jesus does this by physically entering deeper into his workspace, an empty boat—the site of his most recent failure. I invite someone to read Luke 5:3.

“And he got into one of the boats, which was Simon’s, and asked him to put out a little way from the land.”

“Jesus is rather famous at this point,” I suggest to the inmates. “He was likely viewed as a kind of celebrity. He had gathered a big crowd of local people. If you were Simon how would you feel if Jesus publicly got into your boat and asked for your help to push out from the shore there in front of all the people?”

People can easily see that this would be a big honor– to have Jesus ask you for your help, and to be able to use your boat and skills to help Jesus and to help your community hear Jesus as he teaches. We read on about how he sat down and taught, and then imagine the scene there before the whole crowd.

“And when he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” And Simon answered and said, “Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at your word I will let down the nets” (Luke 5:3-4 ESV).

“How would you feel if you were Simon, being asked by Jesus to put down your nets in front of the entire community who had gathered to hear Jesus after having worked all night and caught nothing?” I ask the men, having noted the likely public nature of Jesus’ request for the first time.

We discuss how Simon has just cleaned his nets after catching nothing, and how Jesus is asking him to get them messed up again. People mention the potential shame that Simon (and they) could easily feel to fish again after failing, and the utter disgrace they’d experience pulling up empty nets there before the whole community in full daylight– an embarrassing exposure of ineptitude.

We discuss with the inmates how saying “no” to Jesus would bring disgrace before the community, and how Simon’s calling him Master (boss) and acquiescence “but at your word, I will let down the nets,” could show Simon’s accommodating hospitality or at worst a humiliating submission, even more than authentic faith. Simon lets down his nets before the onlookers on the shore, and we’ve only read Luke 5:5, so there’s anticipation as I ask someone to read the next verse.

“And when they had done this, they enclosed a great quantity of fish; and their nets began to break; and they signaled to their partners in the other boat, for them to come and help them. And they came and filled both of the boats, so that they began to sink” (Luke 5:6-7).

We note together how the text emphasizes that “they” let down the nets, and wonder if “they” includes Jesus and Simon, as there is no one else mentioned as being in the boat. However it looks like “they” refers to Simon and perhaps his assistants, as “they signaled to their partners in the other boat” to help them. They are described as filling the boats that nearly sink, and it looks like the text gives all the credit is going to Simon and his helpers.

“How would you feel if you were Simon at this point, pulling up this enormous catch before the gathered public and your fellow fishermen?” I ask.

The men all state that this would be hugely encouraging. Everyone agrees that Simon is experiencing public exaltation and vindication as a fisherman and a human being. Jesus’ presence with him and specific instructions empower him in his vocation, making him visibly successful and meeting his subsistence needs. Most importantly they bring healing to his shame.

Everyone present can see how beneficial something like this would be for them right there and then. We look next with the inmates at Simon’s reaction to the amazing catch, and I invite someone to read Luke 5:8-10.

“But when Simon Peter saw that, he fell down at Jesus’ feet, saying, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord! For amazement had seized him and all his companions because of the catch of fish which they had taken; and so also James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon.”

Here we have the first mention that Simon is Peter, right at the moment when he saw the abundant catch, and fell down at Jesus’ feet expressing his unworthiness. We are getting to know him better as we hear his full name.

“But why does he tell Jesus to go away from him because he is a sinful man? I ask.

People respond that Simon Peter was feeling unworthy of such a big blessing. We discuss how he may have been afraid of his sudden success, and the men can all relate to this.

“When you succeed in front of everyone you’re set up for a bigger fall. It’s better to stay down than to have visible success and then relapse or reoffend and lose everything,” a man states. Many of the men are in visible agreement.

I suggest to the inmates that Simon Peter was possibly known in the community as a notorious sinner. We talk about how maybe Simon Peter knows that everyone watching him from the shore knows that he’s running a meth lab on the outskirts of Capernaum, or that he’s suspected of stealing car stereos or burglarizing houses to feed his drug habit, has done time for domestic violence or is a felon. Maybe Simon Peter can’t handle Jesus publically blessing him in his “sinful man” state, and knows that his neighbors probably are not excited for him. Does Jesus know who he is blessing? I invite someone to read on to see how Jesus reacts to Simon’s command that he leave.

“And Jesus said to Simon, “do not fear, from now on you will be catching men” (Luke 5:10).

Rather than agreeing with Simon’s request to go away from him, Jesus perceives that fear underlies his reaction, and tells him not to fear. We discuss together how Jesus addresses Simon’s fear of success, his fear of failure, of shame’s return— whatever fear he might have—we might have. Rather than being put off by Simon Peter’s confession, and leaving him more shamed than ever before the public and his colleagues, we notice that Jesus further elevates him by giving him a public promotion: “from now on you will be catching men.”

There in the boat, through Simon’s enormous catch of fish, Jesus catches Simon Peter, James and John. These fishermen are won over by Jesus’ shame-removing ministry, and say “yes” to his full-on inclusion of them in spite of any perceived unworthiness.

“And when they had brought their boats to land, they left everything and followed him” (Luke 5:11).

The men in the jail bible studies and people in our Tierra Nueva community can see why the fishermen were drawn to Jesus and are themselves drawn to him. We summarize Jesus’ recruitment strategy as a way to remind ourselves what to look for now as we anticipate his fishing for us.

We note first that Jesus takes the initiative, going to the margins of the margins—to the workplace there on the shore of the lake of Genesaret in Galilee. Jesus continues to take the initiative, stepping into someone’s workspace, which is a place of failure (Simon’s empty boat). Jesus approaches Simon needing his boat and asking for his assistance. Next Jesus asks his recruit to do something public that is difficult to refuse, inviting risky obedience that leads to public elevation and empowerment in his vocation. Jesus responds to push back (Simon’s unworthiness), addressing underlying fear and inviting him into something bigger (from now on you will be catching men). Jesus’ recruits leave everything to follow him.

Jesus’ style of fishing is catching me again even as it caught Simon and John. I witness this Gospel story come alive in ways that catch inmates and people in our Tierra Nueva church. We pray together that our eyes would be opened to notice Jesus’ presence with us in our places of shame. May the Holy Spirit open our ears to hear Jesus’ shame-healing words and follow his call into a life of adventure as his disciples. May we learn alongside Jesus how to be agents of healing and calling in the places of failure of our world.